Your Song (19 page)

“Goes without saying. Hey, I heard rumblings about a takeover sale of
Wells,”
Raj and I continue talking business for a few more minutes. It seems that rumor mill is churning full force about the potential company sale. If things turn out to be true, it looks like I may find myself to be one very rich man. Sad thing is the thought does not warm me one bit. In fact, what chills me is the look on the faces of the people I have hurt, misled, and betrayed in my own selfish quest to think only of myself.
I really am an ass.
I end the phone call and get straight into bed pulling the covers over me to bring me some much needed warmth.

I toss and turn relentlessly. I close my eyes and think of the disappointment etched on Amy’s face yesterday after her defense. I feel like a shit. I prop my pillow up higher and t
hink of this psycho in my midst . . . could
I
have misled her, whomever she is, in some way?  Moments later, my thoughts travel to Lara and think about how I’ve been the worst friend to her by not returning her calls to meet the new man her life. And, of course, all roads lead to Rome, which naturally brings my thoughts to Danny. I picture his smiling, laughing face in front of me. Like a dream, I try to reach out to touch it, but it vanishes in front of me.

I assemble the silence within me and try to recall the sound of his voice. I try and try to listen for it, but, like a distant echo, his voice is fading. Why did he have to go? Where has he gone?  Why can’t I remember his voice as clearly as I used to? With each passing day and year, I feel like he’s slipping away from me. How can I go on without him?  The pain of missing him rips through me. And for the first time in three years, in the silence of yet another cold hotel room, I allow it to. Tonight, instead of running out and finding someone to distract me from the ache, I stay in and let the tears flow. We had so many more bike trails to ride together. We had so many more poker games to play. We had so many more memories to make. He was gone too soon. Michael Jackson’s soulful voice comes to me singing “Gone Too Soon”.
Ain’t that the truth.

Pillow soaked.
Sobs easing up. The throbbing pain weakening. Sleep finally takes me.

I’m cycling in midair. Like Aladdin, I’m on a magical ride through the sky, sitting atop my bike.  Weaving in and out of the white, fluffy clouds, my bike takes me higher and higher. I’m free. I’m smiling. Danny is riding beside me. He’s ecstatic.  As I reach over to touch him, he rides farther and farther away from me, out of my reach. I pedal faster and faster to catch up to him. He looks back at me laughing. Music is blaring in the sky and it’s coming from an old school boom box hitched to the back of my bike. I’m a cycling deejay, riding above the stars, changing the tunes with the flick of a button.
Is this my heaven . . . playing my music on a bike riding with Danny?

Danny, who by now is way ahead of me, turns his back and waves at me. I pedal more rap
idly to get to him. He’s fading . . . I’m losing him . . . he’s shrinking in the distance . . . I can’t reach him. He’s gone. And I keep pedaling. Riding farther and higher into the bluest of skies. The pain of the uphill ascent is so intense . . . yet so cleansing. It’s so hard. But I push forward anyways. 

I’m awakened from the dream by the sound of my iPhone alarm on the bedside table. Time to start my day. I sit up in bed and put my feet on the carpeted floor beneath me. The dream is still with me.
Danny, me, the bike, music. Danny so blissful . . . me not being able to catch him . . . his disappearing into the clouds . . . as hard as I tried, I couldn’t stop him . . .
he had to go
.
I had to let him go
. With that soothing thought in mind, I begin my day. One step at a time. At this point, I know no other way.

13 “Someday, We’ll Be Together”

From: Amy Sharma

Date: Wednesday, June 13, 2012 4:31 PM

Subject: Thank you

To: Eric Martin

Eric,

Just want to say thank you for the flowers you sent this morning.

Amy

Okay, Amy is still mad at me. Gracious enough, though, to thank me for the bouquet of flowers that I decided to send her this morning. A guilt move on my part? I prefer to call it a conscience check. I’m not proud of the way I left Amy hanging on Monday, bowing out of our prescheduled dinner and blowing her off. I admit it was both ungentlemanly and in very poor taste to treat a friend the way I did.  So, this morning I wanted to try and right that wrong by acknowledging her success at completing her defense. The card accompanying the flowers simply said,
“Congratulations on your Master degree. Eric.”
Could it have been more personal and heartfelt-sounding? I suppose so but the last thing I need is Amy reading into a message that I have no intention of conveying to her. 

From: Eric Martin

Date: Wednesday, June 13, 2012 7:37PM

Subject: Re: Thank you

To: Amy Sharma

Hi Amy,

Wish I understood one word you said on Monday but I could tell you were spectacular.

When are you leaving for your summer in the south of France?

Eric

I hit send and scroll through the long list of emails in my inbox. Holed up in meetings all day, this is the first chance I have had to login to my email account. Amy’s was the first one on the top of the page. I glance out my hotel room window at the majestic view of Canada Place, Stanley Park, and the waterfront all in one glance. What am I doing indoors when I’m in one of the most beautiful cities in the world? I grab my phone and my hotel key and out I go. The emails can wait.

I walk for what feels like hours. From
the hotel, I turned right and haven’t looked back. Weaving in and out of streets, alleyways, and paths I make my way to nowhere in particular. With both hands tucked inside the front pockets of my jeans and my phone buried in my back pocket, I feel light years younger. Dressed in a lightweight white t-shirt, an older pair of Boss jeans, and my blue Converse sneakers, I feel like a teenager all over again. Alone with my thoughts while enjoying the peacefulness I feel in the moment, I can’t remember feeling this carefree in years. I wonder what has changed.

I continue on with my walk and find myself along Robson Street, downtown Vancouver’s premier shopping district. Uncharacteristically of me, I stop in front of a bookstore. Staring at the display of book covers in the window, it dawns on me that I haven’t read a book
in ages. Cycling magazines, online journals, work-related reading, newspapers and the odd cookbook usually make up my reading material . . . but a book? I think hard and try to recall what was the last book I actually read from cover to cover. I think it was Lance Armstrong’s book
It’s Not About the Bike
and the follow up
Every Second Counts
. That was years ago. With that thought in mind, I stroll right into the bookstore in search of something interesting to read.

As soon as I enter the doors, I’m met head-on by the largest book display of that trilogy I’ve heard Cate talk about with the other women in the office,
Fifty Shades of Grey.
Curious about all the talk, I pick up a copy and thumb through it but quickly put the book back on display when I notice I’m the only guy among many women standing around perusing these books. Suddenly, my thoughts turn dark.
Another perfect place to meet married women
. . .
the Fifty Shades of Grey display at a bookstore.
And, for once, I’m finding these thoughts troubling. I make my way to the back of the store where I thumb through some sports books, biographies, and various memoirs in order to distract me from the unease I’m feeling within. Nonchalantly, I pick up some comic books and I’m instantly reminded of Leslie and smile. Maybe I’ll buy a few and surprise her with them when I go see her on Monday.

Classics.
One of my favorite words in the English language is the word
classic
. I think of so many things when I hear the word . . . such as
classic rock
(“More Than A Feeling”
was one of the best classic rock songs of not only the 1970s but of all time, in my humble opinion),
classic style
(a timeless white shirt or a simple black turtleneck) and even
classic art
(the age-defying
Michelangelo
in Florence, Italy). A classic in my mind is something that’s contemporary with all time and enriches the human mind and spirit in some way. And that’s when I spot it. A copy of the ultimate classic, “
Les Miserables”
by Victor Hugo. With the original weighing in at over 1400 pages, I opt for the abridged form. Yes, I admit it may be a bit of an ambitious read but I guess there’s no harm in trying.

  Having read up on the book online in preparing for Amy’s defense, I’m familiar with the plotlines and themes but am ashamed to say, I’ve never actually read any of Hugo’s passages. I walk over to the cash and purchase the abridged copy of “
Les Miserables”
and a few comic books for Leslie.

Shopping bag in hand, I walk out of the store without even giving a second look to who’s standing at the
Fifty Shades of Grey
display. Now I have something to read in my hotel room tonight. Just the thought of it makes me think of Caroline. Think of all the questions I could mine from reading the book that I can now ask my classic professor.

From: Amy Sharma

Date: Wednesday, June 13, 2012 6:01 PM

Subject: Re: Re: Thank You

To: Eric Martin

Eric,

Getting over terrible case of food poisoning. Not leaving for France until Saturday now.  Thanks for coming on Monday. Still mad at you.

Amy

Wouldn’t be the first time a woman is
mad
at me. I reply to her email with a simple
Sorry
and move on
.
Now
back in the quiet of room 414 of the Fairmont Waterfront, I’m finally tackling the inbox. An email from my boss catches my eye. Apparently, there’s a meeting scheduled for the end of next week to announce new directions for the company. Looks like those rumors may turn out to be true after all . . . which means I may turn out to be a very rich man in the end. That lottery win, as I like to call it, could turn out to be a real life changer for me. Optimistically thinking, this sale could be just what the doctor ordered, the opportunity to start over and perhaps begin to live out some of my dreams. Last night’s dream about Danny comes flooding back to me. The two of us . . . on our bikes floating high into the blue skies. I wonder . . . I wonder . . .
what are the possibilities . . . .

Ping
. Holy hell, an email from Caroline!

From: Caroline Durand

Date: Wednesday, June 13, 2012
7:16 PM

Subject: Cookies and Birds

To: Eric Martin

Hi Eric,

You combined some of my favorite things . . . cookies and good luck charms. How creative and thoughtful of you.

Saving the bouquet to share with you one day soon.

Thank you,

Caroline

I reread the email a few times and then quickly hit the reply button.
One day soon?

From: Eric Martin

Date: Wednesday, June 13, 2012   10:20 PM

Subject: Eloquent Professors and Sushi

To: Caroline Durand

Hi Caroline:

Since we are on the topic of favorite things, I thought I’d share two of mine (see title). However,
not together.

Glad you liked the cookie bouquet. Are you feeling better?

Eric

I step away from my laptop and make my way to the bathroom for a quick shower. Shampooing my hair, I cherish this momentary sentiment of buoyancy that I’m feeling.
Maybe I will get to see Caroline sooner than later
. Warm thoughts fill my mind as I wash off the day. Some solitude, a long walk and last night’s comforting dream of Danny have all contributed to my feeling more . . . capable, strong, accepting. I towel dry myself and run back to my laptop too see if Caroline replied to my email.

From: Caroline Durand

Date: Wednesday, June 13, 2012   7:31 PM

Subject: Feeling better

To: Eric Martin

Thanks for asking. I’m starting to feel better. Managing to keep down a cracker I ate an hour ago so it looks like I am on the mend.

How is Vancouver?

Caroline

From: Eric Martin